Alternate Perspective
by Brie-chan
Summary: A fic based during A Wizard Abroad; a summary of it from Ronan's point of view. ^^; Please R&R! My first fic!
1. Greetings

Title: Alternate Perspective   
Rating: G   
Warnings: None this time, folks. ^^ Except minor cursing. ^^;   
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish. @_@ ::huggles her Ronan plushie::   
Author's Note: Wai, I hope I don't mess poor Ronan up too much. >.Oh, and this fic is based mostly off the parts where Ronan and Nita interact, so yes I DO realize a lot of dialouge is taken from the book. It's all hers! I claim none of the dialouge I didn't make up! It's copyright Diane Duane! Can I stress this enough? Oo 

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Idly swirling a straw through the murky brown of his carbonated beverage, a young male with shaggy black hair, dark eyes, and a profile with sharp features sat with his elbow propping his head up at an old, beaten down table, one leg spread off into the aisle to his left, glancing casually about the room. Nothing exciting ever went on around this restaurant; in fact, it was rare to have something disturb the usual weirdness and supernatural happenings of Bray. Except that half of them weren't 'supernatural.' They were the work of wizards. 

Which was exactly what the punkish teen was, though no one sitting around him knew it. 

Feeling that he was about to pass out from the sheer, suffocating dullness of the general atmosphere, he was about to suggest that they ditch the place and find something else to do, when the doors swung open. Naturally, he looked up, as one always does when doors open or close. One black eyebrow arched slightly at the young woman that entered, her masses of bark-colored hair extending far past her shoulders, dressed in a down vest and worn blue jeans. 

One word flashed through his head: Tourist. 

One half of his sometimes awkwardly wide mouth twitched, and he shot a quick glance to his close friend. She was dressed in a khaki shirt, a beat up leather jacket, and black jeans. Her wild mess of hair was several exotic colors all combined at once, with some black showing through here or there. She flashed a grin at him and stood up. 

The male popped his knuckles from habit, causing her to wince slightly. Tossing her a look, he dusted off his tight leather pants and approached the table that the tourist had sat down at. She was sipping a Coke and in no apparent hurry to make conversation. 

His temper flared up slightly as he saw the mild look of surprise that settled on her face when she took in Majella's appearance. Damn Yanks. The thought anything different from their safe, routine little lives was something to be scorned or ridiculed. And it didn't help that Majella was like a sister to him. 

"You a Yank?" He couldn't hold back the edge to his voice as he spoke the word. 

The muscles in her face worked. It seemed she was trying not to get upset. "Somebody has to be. Wanna sit down?" 

He stared for a moment before glancing at Majella. She absently fingered her left glove. "You staying in town?" 

"No, I'm out in Kilquade." She looked slightly curious. 

He flipped some dark hair from his eyes. "Relatives?" 

They were so easy to predict. 

"Yeah. Annie Callahan. She's my aunt." 

"Woooaaa!" He couldn't hold it in. Annie was one of the more wealthy residents of Kilquade, and for the moment, his voice lost the mocking quality that seemed there by default. "Rich relatives, huh?" 

"I don't know if rich is the right word," She admitted, glancing at the empty seats at her table. 

Majella fingered some of her hair. It was a habit. Her hands always had to be moving. "You here looking for your roots?" 

She seemed to take a little bit of time organizing her answer as she glanced first at her own hair, then Majella's. "Still attached to them, far as I can tell. Though finding them around here doesn't seem to be a big problem." 

The boy's face relaxed into a grin as Majella and a few people who'd overheard broke into laughter. "Come on and sit with us," He offered. "I'm Ronan. This is Majella," and he gestured to his still chuckling companion. 

"Okay." She stood up, brushing some hair from her shoulder. "I'm Nita Callahan." 

"Well, Nita, this is Shelia, Cyrus, and Bree." Ronan pointed at he introduced them. The affect on the group was almost instantaneous. 

"You have a lot of money, right?" The boy, Cyrus, asked. 

"So you get to see movies all the time, I bet." 

Bree interjected. "In the States they get them six months earlier!" 

Nita looked a slight bit overwhelmed. "Uh, my folks don't let me go see that many movies. I have to keep up my schoolwork all the time or they don't let me go out." 

The party almost simaltaneously moaned at her revelation. 

"There's no escape, then!" Ronan looked dissapointed. 

Shelia was examining her fingernails as a young boy massaged her shoulders. "So." 

Bree rolled her eyes. "What a great conversationalist. Why don't you start the introductions, Cy?" 

Cyrus blew on his sandy blonde hair. "I live in Bray. Name: Cyrus. Blood Type: AB. Age-" 

Majella punched him in the shoulder. "He's just a geek. Bree lives in Bray, too, and so do I. Shelia lives pretty far away, though." 

"I live in Greystones. I take the bus here for the crack, though. Can't get it anywhere else." 

Nita's mouth almost dropped open. 

"Why look so astonished?" Ronan asked. "It's not like you can get any good talk anywhere else." 

She abruptly closed her mouth. "Oh, it's nothing." 

Ronan shrugged. He turned back to Majella, who was already raving about a disco that they all had to go to. She was going to wear black satin pants that zipped in the back, and a tube-top. Majella had already claimed Cyrus as a date, and Shelia opted to go with the cute guy behind her. A conversation ensued on who would wear what and who else was going with who. 

On a sudden inspiration, Ronan turned to Nita. "You got someone to go with?" 

An odd look passed over her face. "Uh, no... my buddy's back in the States." 

Shelia looked suddenly interested. "Oooh, she's got a _buddyyyyyy_! Aren't you a little... young for that?" 

Amusement flickered over Nita's face as she glanced at the guy massaging her. "Let's just say that in my part of the world we make up our minds about this kind of thing early." 

That immediately spawned rude comments and some minor violence. Ronan just rolled his eyes at the group. "So if your buddy's there, what are you doing here?" 

Majella butted in. "I know! Her folks sent her here because they were--ahem!" She shook her head and gestured with her hands, implying just _what_ they were doing. 

"Well, yeah." She freely admitted after a second's thought. 

For some reason, Ronan felt slightly... dissapointed. 

"Anyway, I'm stuck here for six weeks." 

The indignation of the group was a comic sight. They immediately launched into all of the attractive features of Bray, highlighting things such as the Sugarloafs and Bray's Head. She laughed and asked them if they ever did everything they were telling her. 

"Oh, well, those are _tourist_ things." Ronan explained. 

"Gee, thanks a lot." Nita was clearly joking. 

As the conversation dwindled, Ronan couldn't help but notice that the Yank kept glancing at him. Slightly amused, he glanced back, feigning anger when she turned and stared again. Apparently it worked, because her eyes narrowed in response, after which Ronan's features smoothed out and he almost grinned. 

One by one they began to file out, until it was just Ronan and Nita. Whistling, he stood up, making his way for the door. "Don't you get lost looking for leprechauns now, Miss Yank," he called teasingly to her over his shoulder, pushing the doors open and stepping into the bright sunlight. 

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Ronan turned a corner and had a most peculiar thought: that Yank was actually kind of cute. 


	2. Cinnamon Crumb Cake

Title: Alternate Perspective  
Part: Two of ?  
Rating: G  
Warnings: None. ^^  
Author's note: I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts! ::Gets hit in the head with a brick:: Ow.  
  
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Preheat at 350 degrees. Combine cake mix, eggs, and water. Stir. Empty contents of cinnamon topping in separate bowl. Set aside. Coat inside of pan with non-stick cooking spray. Spoon half of batter into prepared pan. Sprinkle 1/2 cup cinnamon topping over batter. Drop remaining batter over cinnamon topping layer. Sprinkle another 1/2 cup cinnamon topping. Swirl batter. Sprinkle remaining cinnamon topping over batter. Set timer for forty-five minutes.  
  
The sleeves of his black turtleneck rolled up past his elbows, Ronan Nolan waited impatiently as the oven slowly climbed to the required heat. Scowling, he brushed his hands on his mother's frilly apron and turned to the sink, where a mass of dishes was awaiting him. His brows drew together further at this, and deciding not to even _bother_, he carefully set the two bowls in the sink and filled them with water.  
  
His mouth itched to say the few simple words that would get them going by themselves. Opting not to, as his mother sometimes got visitiors--non-magic people--he sighed impatiently at the oven. Only about twenty more degrees to go.  
  
Drumming his fingers impatiently on the countertop, he glared at the oven. So utterly, completely, wholly slow. He was finally rewarded as the oven chimed. Tugging on some (terribly) pink pot holders, he lowered the door and slid the concotion into the oven, starting the timer.   
  
Forty minutes to go. Thirty-five. The time literally _crawled_ by, and he realized that staring at the clock would only make it go slower. Throwing himself onto the couch in a tangled mess, he slipped off the pot holders and tossed them onto a table nearby. Delicious smells began to waft in from the kitchen, and it was all he could do to contain himself as he stood up and pushed on the oven light. Seven more minutes.   
  
Startled by a quick rapping on the door, he turned out the oven light and straightened, absently flicking some unruly hair from his eyes. He took his time in setting all the dishes in the sink, filling them with hot water, and returning the pot holders to where they belonged. He figured the person on the other end of the door was just about to leave when he yanked his apron off and flung the door open, scowling out the doorway.  
  
His expression abruptly changed to one of mingled surprise and disdain as he surveyed who was in front of him. The Yank. What was she doing at his house? He opened his mouth to ask, but was cut off.  
  
"R. Nolan?" Nita asked, her voice quavering slightly. "Junior?"  
  
Ronan exercised his jaw. "Hey, you're the-"  
  
"I'm on errantry, and I greet you."   
  
The standard wizard to wizard greeting.  
  
He could almost feel his jaw slackening. That pompous, arrogant little Yank was one of his kind? She was a wizard?   
  
"_You_?" He couldn't help but sound disbelieving, and a little angry.  
"Me." She sounded... smug?  
  
"You're one of us. Huh." He scowled. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Can we talk... uh... somewhere besides your front porch? I require an advice."  
  
She sounded so formal, he was almost taken aback. They _had_ met before, after all.  
  
Just then, a warning ring came from the kitchen.  
  
"Crap! My cake!" Without much warning, he discarded the apron that was in his hand and skidded into the kitchen, yanking on pot holders and taking it out. It was perfect.  
  
Nita looked in curiously. "Nice pot holders."  
  
Nearly coloring at the pink adornments, he glared at her and set his cake carefully down to cool. He slid the mittens off and set them next to the cake, stalking back out. She was examining the apron as well.  
  
"I didn't know you were into frills and lace. I really didn't see it in you, Ronan." She grinned at him.  
  
"Keep your filthy _American_ hands off my mother's apron." He snatched it away, heavily stressing American. She narrowed her eyes in response.  
  
"Look, I came here for advice. If you don't want to give me any, then fine, I'll look someone else up in the book."  
  
"Book?" He laid the garmet over his arm. "What book?"  
  
"You know, your wizard's manual." She eyed him like he was daft. "Where you get the spells and the ancillary data."  
  
Ronan looked very surprised indeed. "You get them out of a _book_?"  
  
A look of confusion diffused across her features. "Well, yeah. Where else would you get them?"  
  
He looked scandalized. "The way we always have--the way the druids and bards did for two, three thousand years, maybe more. We do it by memory!"  
  
Nita's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. "You learn the whole manual _by heart_? The whole body of spells?"  
  
Ronan rolled his eyes. "You have to learn the basic incantations that make the more detailed information available. But mostly, mostly you learn it by heart--the area restrictions, the address list--if a change happens, you usually just wake up knowing about it one morning--and you make sure you remember it." He snatched her manual from her and thumbed through it. "This makes it way too easy," He said with disgust, pushing it back at her.  
  
She was going to argue, but he decided that they had better not get into any more of a tiff than they already were. "Do you want some cake?" He asked it almost spitefully.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Cake. Don't you Yanks have that back at home?"  
  
Her eyebrows drew together momentarily.  
  
He sighed. "Fine, fine. It's cinnamon crumb cake. I humbly beg your apologies, O exalted princess, and ask if you would join me for some cake."  
  
"You're just dripping with sincerity." Nita scowled at him. "Fine, I'll eat your cake. But if it knocks me out or something, I hold you fully responsible."  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched at this. "Oh?"  
  
She rolled her eyes and seated herself at the table.  
  
Handing her a miniature plate with a medium sized portion, he sat down with his own and poised his fork above it.  
  
"Aren't you going to try it?"  
  
Nita blinked and stuck her fork down in the bouncy surface, tentatively raising it to her mouth. She took a few careful chews before swallowing, the slightly spicy taste lingering in her mouth.  
  
"It's good."   
  
Something flickered across his face before he took a bite of his own. Had she offended him?  
  
"It's really good. I mean, I wish _I_ could bake a cake like this!" She tried to reassure him, though a few moments ago she wanted to do nothing short of strangling him.  
  
Ronan looks faintly embarrassed. "It's not hard." He mumbled. "Just read the directions on the back of a box."  
  
Nita cast him a sly look. "What, you haven't memorized it by heart?"  
  
Giving her his trademark look, he neatly finished off his piece and stood up, demanding her plate. She handed it over, somewhat surprised as he walked to the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves, and became elbow-deep in soapy water.  
  
"So. What's your problem?" 


End file.
